


In the Darkness

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gladio isn't a bad guy, Grief, He's just a heartbroken guy, Healing, Heartbreak, M/M, Past Gladio/Ignis, Unrequited Love, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-06 22:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14067324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: For there to be darkness, there must be light.Gladio knows that love is fickle, that the heart yearns for what cannot be, but it doesn't make it easier. Especially when Ignis is in love with Noctis.(Past Gladio/Ignis, current Ignis/Noctis)





	1. Chapter 1

Gladio isn’t blind, and he definitely isn’t dumb. He knows how the world works, and he knows what is expected of him. He understands the duty of the blood that runs in his veins and the tattoo across his shoulders. He is all but chattel and could be replaced easily enough. There is another Amicitia, one that would no doubt be willing to die for her King, and Gladio knows that if he ran... the King would never be without his Shield. 

_King._

Gladio pushes his fork straight through the styrofoam cup of noodles, the juice leaking into the dirt below. The constant drip is a melody to him, something that was far more rewarding than the sounds from the tent.

Ignis may not have known he had returned, but Noctis—Noctis had to know. After all, he was putting on a show. Dig the knife in a little deeper, a little more jagged.

Was it a show? Gladio stares at the zipped-up entrance of the tent, the pale moon sinking into the horizon just behind it. The sun would begin its slow ascension soon enough, and Prompto must have already left for his run—his boots are gone and the sun peeked through just enough to keep the daemons at bay. Certainly enough for Prompto to feel safe. Enough for Ignis and Noctis to take a moment to _indulge_.

They think they're alone, maybe. It's been almost a week since Gladio left, so it makes sense. Sick, twisting sense in his stomach, but sense nonetheless. Gladio knows this voice in his head, and knows that he should ignore it. It has a bad habit of whispering the worst of Gladio into his ear, and he knows better than to listen.

The Genji sword next to him, the scar across his brow, the understanding of the words Cor had spoken reverberating through his ears even now—he is here, and yet he isn't.

The last king.

“Iggy, _please_.”

Gladio swallows back the bile forming in his throat.

Noctis is the brother he had sworn to defend. He's done so without question or pause his entire life. He's always put Noctis before himself, before his desires, before everything. After having given everything to Noctis… of course he would find and take the one thing Gladio had selfishly hidden away. 

“Noctis… I—“

Part of Gladio whispers that Gladio has done this to himself, that his thoughts about Noctis are fruitless and pointless and cruel. It isn’t Noctis’s fault. Noctis can be spoiled and selfish, he takes and takes and takes, but this? This is on him. Noctis takes, sure...

And all Ignis does is give. Unflinchingly loyal, dedicated—loving. He has always loved Noctis more than he could ever love Gladio, and for that a part of him hates Noctis.

But Ignis isn't his. Ignis had always been sparse with his touch, never initiating, and of course, Gladio knows why. He's always known. All he had to do was look into Ignis's eyes and it spoke like fire, burning and smoldering. He pretended for a while, pretended like Ignis didn't spend their dates checking his phone, pretended that when Ignis accepted his touch it was with a silent sort of resignation, pretended that the reason Ignis bit down on his lips their only time in bed wasn't because he wanted to whisper out someone else's name. Maybe there was a chance they could have been happy, but Gladio knows better. 

This is on Gladio.

He's the one who ended it, who told Ignis that whatever was between them was just casual—nothing serious. It never had been serious, and they could never be serious because of—

Noctis. Noctis was what he woke in the morning and went to bed thinking about. Following his family's sworn duty was the most important thing, and they both needed to have their heads on right. Of course Ignis agreed, all too eager; his lips still held the tell-tale sign of teeth marks and shame, and Ignis was sooner to be rid of it.

Gladio's always known that he's willing to do anything to follow his duty.

That’s one of their problems.

He's human, and he's flawed— and he knows just how much as he listens to the soft murmurs of words Gladio wishes Ignis had said to him and the leisurely slap of skin against skin. He watches as the wind shakes the roof, and a petty part of him wishes that it would collapse on top of both of them and ruin their perfect moment. He wants to remind Noctis that fucking his advisor goes against the entire purpose of their journey, that the gods do not look down upon a slacker with any favor.

Noctis's supposed to marry Lady Lunafreya. He's supposed to gather the respect and power of the Gods and the Lucii. He's supposed to be a king. He's supposed to be many things, and yet he isn't. He isn't ready. He isn't strong enough. 

This is Gladio's fault. 

Gladio also knows that the Age of Kings is near its end, the storybook drawing to a close. If Cor is right, if Gilgamesh spoke the truth, then Noctis is unlikely to see the first chapter to the next story.

The part of him that whispers half-truths and half-lies tells him that he's leading Noctis to his ruin, and that his jealousy will be what drives the sword straight through the Chosen King's back.

He knows the truth, though. Deep down, in a place where he remembers the little boy who he had sworn his life to, Gladio knows better. He's willing to die for Noctis no matter what pain he causes him. It doesn't dull the ache inside, doesn't fix his woes. Gladio still feels the pinch of anger inside, the part of him that covers a hole that he knows he can't fix on his own, but he bites it down. This is his duty. 

But where does his duty belong? Does it belong to the man or with the Chosen King?

A long time ago, Gladio would have asked Ignis. Ignis held all the world's answers in the cold, sharp precision of an advisor's logic. He would have been able to set Gladio right, to remind him of his family's honor and pride. He would have told him that Noctis was important, but his duty even more so.

"I love you, Noct..."

That time is long gone.

Gladio's always known that he's willing to do anything to follow his duty.

And Gladio's always known that Ignis's willing to do anything to keep Noctis safe.

And that?

That's the other problem.

Gladio pulls the Genji sword from the dirt below and vanishes his half-eaten noodles into the Armiger for later. He isn't ready for this, isn't ready to see them.

Gladio needs more time, but he knows that not even a thousand years would give him the answers he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

They're in Lestallum and Gladio's not sure if Ignis and Noctis are being so obvious on purpose, or if it's just the memories of the tent fluttering in the breeze as moans caressed the morning air that made Gladio's teeth gnash together. This feeling boils inside of Gladio, but he tries to push it down. They all deserve just a little down-time before heading to Cape Caem, before heading to Altissia.

Part of Gladio wants Noctis to stay the course, to marry Lady Lunafreya when they arrive. He is supposed to be the King, especially now that his father is gone. It doesn't matter that Insomnia is a pile of rubble—Lucis still needs its King, still needs its leader. Even if he is nothing but a shell of a child who was still learning how to grow up. 

A part of Gladio whispers in the background that there is no point in continuing the inevitable, and it's better that Noctis does what he is destined to do... before Gladio loses the ability to stop himself from defying fate itself for Noctis the man, not Noctis the King.

It's a heavy weight on his shoulders, one that he wouldn't dare curse on any other person. It's his burden to carry, his family's fated promise to the Chosen King.

It doesn't make it hurt less, and Gladio knows he's being unfair to the guys. He doesn't want to be in Lestallum—he doesn't know where he wants to be, but he knows he doesn't want to be wearing some ridiculous cosplay, feeling every set of eyes staring at him, as if they can see right through him, right through his facade.

Except, of course, for the green pair of eyes he wants to look at him. 

They're just staring at each other, the love-struck blushes biting at their necks like a bruise, and Gladio has to force himself away to keep from saying anything.

If they want to stare at one another, whatever. If they want to waste time in Lestallum, fine. It isn’t his problem. 

He finds woman after woman—strong arms, calloused hands, pliant bodies to fuck against walls. He flirts as if it’s the last night of his life, fucks like he's sowing the seeds for a harvest that will never happen. He gets caught more than once by locals, by other couples, even by Prompto. 

He fucks each woman and sends her off on her merry way, hoping that when the next one shows up it'll be Ignis or Noctis who sees.

It wouldn't hurt them, though. It wouldn't bother Ignis in the very least. Not when he has Noctis to sit and pine at. 

Maybe that's why he tries with Cindy—he wants to hurt someone, hurt something, and if he can't hurt Noctis and Ignis, then he sure as fuck can hurt Prompto. At least that will get something from Ignis and Noctis, even if it's only second-hand anger. 

She’s a smart girl, that Cindy. She sees through him after the second sentence, and pats him on the arm. She shakes her head and tells him he knows better, and she knows better, too. 

“I ain’t that kinda girl, Gladio. I ain’t sayin’ your words ain’t turnin’ me inta a blushin’ tomato, but you don’t mean it. And I ain’t gunna hurt you worse than you’re already hurtin’ yourself.”

She’s right, and that’s why Gladio finds himself in their hotel room later that night with a different girl on his bed, long limbs and delicate hands and brown hair like honey. He fucks her well and good and kicks her out before Prompto comes back, but he knows the smell still stinks everything to high heaven. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Prompto asks. It’s hesitant and laced with emotions Gladio doesn’t want to think about. 

“Don’t need your pity. I’m the one who just got laid.”

Prompto pinches the bridge of his nose, just like Ignis does. It makes Gladio want to punch him right in the face. “Gladio, is there something going on? Because dude, you look ready to kill someone.”

“Gunna be you if you keep asking stupid fucking questions.”

Prompto takes in a deep breath and for a moment Gladio wants him to say something, wants him to be stupid enough to pick a fight. All Gladio wants is to get rid of this feeling like lead in his stomach. He wants to punch something, break something. 

“Okay, buddy. You’ve just been like this since you got back.” He shrugs and pulls at his stupid assassin costume. “Just figured… if you need someone to talk to…”

He wants to lie right then, tell Prompto that he fucked Cindy back in Hammerhead abd again right now, and if Prompto wants his sloppy seconds he’s welcome to them. Hells, he’s welcome to fuck Ignis, too. 

Ignis is nothing but an open hole for anyone, Prince and pauper alike, to use. 

Gladio bites back the words like vomit and stares at Prompto, staring at his frown and the little crease above his eyebrows, and he knows what hurts more than punching. He knows what hurts more than broken bones and skin knitting itself back together. 

He regrets it the moment his mouth is on Prompto’s. For one horrifying heartbeat he thinks Prompto is about to kiss back, but at least one of them has basic common sense. Prompto shoves him away, not hard enough to hurt but enough to put a few feet of distance between them. Gladio is amazed he’s still standing; a feather could have blown him over. 

“You’re drunk.” Gladio hasn’t had a sip of alcohol since Insomnia. “You’re horny.” Gladio’s dick was as soft as a gummy worm. “You’re clearly going through some shit.”

“Can say that again,” Gladio manages, and when he tries to take another step forward Prompto puts his arms in front of him. He’s not shaking, but Gladio can tell he wants to. 

“But that isn’t my fault. I’m sorry about whatever’s going on, but I’m not getting involved. And it’s not fair for you to try and drag me in.”

Gladio tried again, but Prompto takes a step back, hands going up higher. 

“Stop, Gladio.” It isn’t the cheer-free man that had been standing in front of him saying that. This was the man who had been trained with a gun, a man Cor Leonis considered to have potential. There’s steel in his voice, and Gladio knows he needs to stop now, because he was better than this. 

He is better than this. 

“Go to bed. I’m gunna go sleep with Ignis and Noctis.” 

Prompto turns his back on Gladio, and the words he say next ring hollow and they both know it. 

“She’s never gunna love you.”

Prompto doesn’t even turn around. “Maybe not. But I at least I know to love myself enough to let her be happy.” He stands still, hand hovering over the door knob. “Sometimes loving someone is knowing when to let go. Let them be happy, Gladio. With whatever time they’ve got left, let them be happy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gladio wants to kill Ignis when they find him in Zegnautus Keep, blind and dying. He's a mess of pain and desperation, the Ring of the Lucii locked on his finger and only one name on his lips. It isn't his name, but it has never been his, has it?

Noctis is... Noctis is holding Ignis in his hands as if he were the sun and the moon, and Gladio wishes that those were his hands touching Ignis, his hands giving comfort. He knows that he shouldn't be wishing that he was holding his dying ex-lover in his hands, but it doesn't stop the yearning eating through him. Everything he has been, everything he will ever be, is a failure.

He can't protect Ignis, and he can't protect Noctis.

No one can protect Noctis. They'll both have to watch him die, or so Gladio thought before this moment where Ignis gasps out a soft whimper of Noctis's name. His hand lingers in the air, reaching for Noctis in the darkness. But now... Ignis is getting off easy. Ignis gets to die as Noctis becomes a King, and Noctis will die after having lost another part of him.

He hates himself for thinking that maybe it'll be easier to let go of Noctis if he knows that Noctis at least won't be going into that darkness alone.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Gladio can't keep the break from his voice and he wishes he could reach out and just touch Ignis, but Ignis doesn't want him. He doesn't want the comfort that Gladio can give.

And so... Gladio does the only thing he can do in a situation where there are no right answers and his heart is laid bare for everyone to see. He knows that his still-beating heart lays at Ignis's feet, but he pulls himself back, pulls himself away.

He tries to not show it as Noctis caresses Ignis's cheek and whispers out his love. He tries not to flinch as Noctis pulls Ignis into his lap and gently removes the Ring of the Lucii from Ignis's hand. Ignis deserves more than that ring of death.

Noctis does, too.

Gladio tries to not stare down as the magic washes out from the Crystal towards Ignis. The sylleblossoms look so beautiful across his broken skin, and Gladio watches with hope curling in his stomach as the petals melt into his cray and cracked skin, the skin slowly morphing from broken and painted to fresh and pink so beautiful. There are some scars, the milkiness of his eyes not quite fading, but Ignis is alive and whole, and it's not because of him. Gladio knows that this.... this is all because of Noctis.

He should feel something good, something pure, but Gladio doesn't know what he is feeling. It's mostly pain.

It doesn't matter if Noctis can save Ignis, because now both Ignis and Gladio will have to deal with the loss of Noctis themselves, and Gladio knows that nothing he can do will ever measure up to Noctis.

He's not even sure he wants to try.

"Keep him safe?" Noctis's face is so earnest, so hopeful when he looks up to Gladio and Gladio can only nod. The words in his mouth are ash, but he knows that Noctis understands.

Prompto leans forward to take Ignis from Noctis, and Noctis can only spare Ignis the briefest of butterfly kisses of his fingers across Ignis's brow before he stands and summons his sword. He warps, quick and sure, and Gladio knows that this will be the last time he sees Noctis for a long time.

When he meets Noctis's eyes, he stays strong. He thinks when Noctis can't, and right now he knows that he cannot protect Noctis from his fate, from his destiny. But, Gladio knows, he can do his best to keep the things Noctis loves alive.

He'll do it for the little boy he had promised to keep safe, even though he knows it may end in ruin. It may end in death...

But he's willing to try.

So, Gladio does his best with carrying Ignis out of Zegnautus Keep, pulling the still-wounded body away from the Crystal that they both want to climb into. Ignis cries, begs and barters with the Crystal, but they both understand the soft pulsing of a heartbeat inside—Noctis will return to them, in time. It won't be today or tomorrow, maybe it will take days or weeks or months, but Noctis will return. It does nothing for the now, which is why Gladio is relieved when the adrenaline runs its way through Ignis and he finally crashes, still holding on to the sides of the Crystal.

It hurts, but not as much as it hurts to remove Ignis's clothes and wash the blood and gore from his body. There are scars in places no scars belong, kissing their way up Ignis's spine and his arms. He can see the indent from where ribs have protruded from the skin, but underneath the magic of the Crystal has knitted them back into place. How did Ignis fight? How could he have fought and won against Ardyn when he was so broken?

Gladio wishes he could erase the band around Ignis's finger, the band that was more important than a wedding ring and so much more painful to look at. He knows that Ignis will wear it like a badge of pride, but the way the scar runs from his finger all the way up his wrist and shoulders, right to his neck and then to the sides of his face... Ignis is lucky to not be blind.

He's lucky he isn't dead.

Part of this is Gladio's fault. He knows that he should have talked with Ignis about it since the beginning, since the moment he had found out that Noctis would need to die for the prophecy. They always knew there was a prophecy, but Gilgamesh was so specific...

Gladio wishes for a lot of things, but he wishes that Ignis could have lived a thousand years with Noctis than feel the pain cutting through him at this second.

That is what love is, right?

As he washes away the blood, as he stares down at skin that isn't his to touch, his to kiss, Gladio tries to say goodbye in the only way he can. He doesn't cry, doesn't beg, but he mourns.

Prompto can see it, but he says nothing. He only offers Gladio a pat on the shoulder as Gladio's fingers tremble as he dresses Ignis one last time.

When Ignis wakes, Gladio sits next to him and tells him the story of Gilgamesh, of what he knows about the Dawn. Ignis rages deep inside, but he doesn't scream, doesn't cry. He sits on the bed and stares.

"Then we'll change it."

And this is what Gladio's been worried about.

"What if we can't?" Gladio knows his voice is breaking, but Ignis says nothing.

"Then we'll try until we can."

"Life doesn't always work like that, Ignis."

Gladio wants to tell Ignis that sometimes, sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes hope and prayers are just words and feelings that mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. When humans went against gods, Ardyn Izunia is what happens. It's what happened to Gilgamesh.

"We could do something big, something bad. What if trying to change fate makes it worse? What do we do if—"

Ignis isn't having it. "Then we face that challenge if it happens, but Gladio... You didn't hear her, you didn't feel it. If there's any chance to save Noctis.... then we have to try." Ignis reaches out for Gladio's hand, and it takes everything in him to not fall into that touch.

Gladio pulls back.

"I won't ask you to do this for me, Gladio. I have asked you for far more than I have had a right to in the past. Instead, I ask you to do this for Noctis." Ignis's voice is so unlike him. He sounds so broken. "Gladio... I love him."

Gladio closes his eyes.

"This has nothing to do with you loving him, Iggy. This has to do with—"

"Our jobs. Your job." Ignis pauses. "King Regis and your father—they knew of his fate. And so did you. None of you dared to question it, but I do. And now... Now I question why they didn't try harder. And I question why you didn't try, either."

Gladio's mouth felt like ash. "It isn't because of you." Ignis doesn't understand the feelings inside of him, doesn't understand the pain of being raised for a king that he would never have a chance to protect, never have a chance to serve. It's everything Gladio's life has been built upon, and all of it is a lie. "It isn't because I love you."

Ignis's nostrils flare. "Then why won't you try?" Ignis's fist curls and shakes.

"Because you're the one thinking with your fucking heart, Ignis. Our job isn't to let ourselves feel. No matter how much we love him, no matter how much I love you. You think I want him to die?"

He's known it for a while, known that the words he needs to say are harsh and cold, and it isn't what Gladio wants at all. He wants Noctis to live, to grow. He wants Ignis to be happy. He wants a lot of things, but he knows they aren't meant to be.

Ignis's silence is deafening.

"Don't you dare—you don't get to think that about me. You don't get to question me on him. Not now, not ever. I was born for him. I'd die for him. I put his happiness in front of my own fucking life—"

Ignis's voice is bordering on quaking, and it's the first time he has seen this side of Ignis, seen the part of Ignis that is raw and so naked. "Then why won't you try? You have never prayed to the gods, but I have. Ever since I was a child, I prayed to them every night. This isn't right, this isn't fair. This isn't justice."

Gladio swallows.

"Life... life isn't fair sometimes, Ignis. The Gods aren't fair. Look at the Chancellor. You said he was supposed to be the King of Light? Look what the gods did to him. There isn't mercy in this world. Not from the Gods, anyway."

Ignis's voice is so soft that for a moment Gladio thinks it is his mind playing tricks on him. "They fear him.... they fear his power. But we won't let him become Ardyn. You won't."

"How are we supposed to stop him?" Gladio knows what is coming next, what promise he is about to make. It pulls the air from the room and all he can feel is.... defeat.

"He has you. If something goes wrong, if he loses himself... I won't be able to stop him, Gladio. You know that. You also know I would never leave him... not without good reason." Ignis pushes through his next words, "He deserves this chance, but if it goes wrong... then you know what you must do. You know what I'll have to do." His hand shakes and he opens it flat, pressing his palms onto the bed.

Ignis shouldn't be this calm talking about dying by his own hand, but there's a lot inside of Ignis that Gladio hasn't understood until this moment. He's always known that Ignis would do anything for Noctis, but this is almost too much for Gladio to bear.

"Then you better be damn sure about this, Iggy."

"I am."

"And you better not be wrong."

"I wouldn't dare."

There's something in his words, in his unflinching loyalty to Noctis, that makes Gladio nod his head.

"Then I'll do it. For him."

"For Noctis."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. A sort of cleansing, if you will.

Iris is always more perceptive than he gives her credit for. Maybe it’s because she also knows what it’s like to love someone she can never have, and it tears into a part of Gladio that he wishes it didn’t. It’s always a reminder that Ignis is too far away to touch, too far away to love, but close enough to be tortured by.  

Like brother like sister; they yearn from afar. It’s sad, because while Gladio has gotten to touch and taste Ignis, Iris hasn’t had the chance to ever touch Noctis, to kiss her King. Maybe that is for the best, because one touch, one kiss, one tender night… It’s got Gladio tied up forever, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to escape from its grasp.

Still, Iris knows better than anyone else. She’s busy trying to heal herself, to make it so that she doesn’t fall to pieces at the idea of Noctis inside of the Crystal, hidden away to grow strong enough to die. She’s resilient, though. She moves on easier than Gladio does, and it’s almost terrifying to Gladio at who she chooses as her future lover.

“What is with you and older men?” Gladio asks as he looks at Iris over the kitchen table, staring at how she swirls her fork in her pasta. It’s half-eaten and congealing, but Iris pays it no mind. 

“What’s with you and you-know-who?” Iris bites back. “And women. Like, all the women. Is there any lady in this city who you haven’t been with?”

Gladio is sure she’s exaggerating, but he doesn’t tempt her to explain further.

“Well, I’m an adult. And you’re still sixteen.”

Iris drops her fork down, shoving her plate to the side. “I’m not asking for your permission, Gladdy. I’m telling you—I’m training with Cor, and I don't really care what you say about it.”

“If he so much as lays a hand on you—“ 

Iris snorts. “You’ll do what? Kick his ass? He’s called the Immortal for a reason, y’know? And it’s not like that…. it’s just… I want to fight too, Gladdy. I want to help. And I can only make so much clothes before losing my mind. I want to be helpful, and Cor says he can teach me. So please,  _ please _ , let him teach me.”

But Iris looks at Cor like she used to look at Noctis, and it terrifies Gladio that his little sister is just like he is. They both go after people who they can’t have, people who are not theirs to keep. He knows that part of Cor will always be somewhere in Taelpar Crag, another part tied with the bodies of two broken kings. 

“You need to try to date. Not just sleeping with people, Gladio. Just like…. date. You deserve to be happy, too.”

“I don't have time to date, Iris. I’m too busy.”

“Yeah, busy _hiding_.” Iris stands from the table and picks up both their plates—neither of them are very hungry anymore. “But if you have enough time to make your rounds through every lady in Lestallum, the least you can do is try. For me."  

Gladio tries. 

Her name is Linnie and she smiles like a fading sunset, soft and sad and waiting for the dawn to return. He doesn’t think it’s love, because both of them are far too jaded for that kind of thing, but it’s something. It's more than nothing, at least. And Iris likes her, so that’s definitely something.

He tries to tell her about what it’s like to spend an entire lifetime in service to a legend, in service to a king that is always meant to die, always meant to give himself up for the light. She doesn’t say anything and Gladio is thankful for that. He doesn’t want her to say anything, because it’s all been heard before and nothing is ever new. He’s had to listen to Ignis go on and on, praying to the altars of science and reason and logic to help save Noctis from a fate that seems so much worse than death.

He tries to help Ignis, too. It’s hard, but he tries. It doesn’t matter that so much as looking at Ignis sends a jolt down to the pit of his stomach because he knows that what Ignis is trying to do is right, even if it might be wrong. Even if it goes against every single thing Gladio has ever known and will ever know….

It’s hard to say ‘no’ to the person you love. It’s even harder to try not to save Noctis, because no matter how much he’s in love with Ignis, he has  _ always  _ loved Noctis.

He’s hesitant at first, trying to see why his father would have ever given him a hopeless mission. His father was supposed to teach him how to be the best Shield, to protect the king and country above his very own life. It seems almost preposterous that the Shield of the King of Lucis was more willing to let the King die than a mere advisor, but it’s what Gladio was taught. It’s everything that Gladio knows. It flies in the face of what he knows is right and wrong, what his father drilled into him as a child.

It takes a long time, months, maybe even years, for the nightmares of his father’s face to fold in the background of his dreams. Now it’s just eyes, cold and piercing as they stared straight through him, and that’s enough to keep Gladio from sleeping.

He doesn’t have those nightmares when he’s next to Linnie. Everything about her seems to be luck. Their second meeting was just a stroke of luck, even though they had met all those months ago before the world had fallen to shit and the Crystal had taken its willing sacrifice.

For a moment he doesn’t recognize her; she’s beautiful with milky brown hair and soft hands, hands that are nothing like those of a hunter or a warrior. He’s always been more into bigger girls, girls with strong arms and thick, ropy muscles. He likes the way they look at him, the way he knows they could do a fair bit of damage in their own right. He likes their rough hands and coarse hair.

Ignis’s hair is far too soft. Ignis’s hands are calloused but the skin across his knuckles is gentle against his face. Gladio remembers that, remembers how strong he is juxtaposed with the most sensitive parts of him.

Linnie’s something different, though. She’s tall and lanky, barely able to pick up his sword and he laughs when she blows out a strand of hair from her face when she tries. He doesn’t think she’s aiming to be funny, and that’s what brings him to smile. Gladio realizes why he chose her—big green eyes, soft brown hair, high nose and soft lips. But after first glance, she’s nothing like Ignis.

She’s actually an Insomnian girl, a refugee, but it’s amazing that she is still able to even smile, no matter how slight, after everything she’s seen. To be fair, Gladio’s amazed he can even stand after everything he’s seen, after everything he  _ will _ see.

And she remembers him. That’s the part that throws Gladio off, because she remembers him when he doesn’t remember her.

He probably deserves getting slapped in the face.

Nah. He definitely deserves it. 

“Do I look like some girl you can just use and forget?”

“Uh… sorry?”

He probably didn’t deserve the second slap.

“You asshole—“

“Lady—“

“Linnie.”

“Well, Linnie, do you go around slapping everyone you sleep with or am I just special?”

He laughs when he remembers it now, because she had looked so genuinely angry and taken aback that she stared like an anak in the headlights for a moment before sitting down next to him at the restaurant. His date tonight, thankfully, is a bottle of burbon. 

“Talk about a blow to the ego.”

He pours her a glass. She takes it with a huff and downs it, holding in the cough he knows she wants to give. 

“Yours or mine?”

“Mine, I guess.” 

She looks sad then, and it was only at that moment Gladio remembers her.

“The Assassin’s festival, right?”

She shrugs and bats off his hand when he reaches out to her.

“You just…. looked like my… fiancé. I shouldn’t have…”

“Fiancé?”

She shrugs again, picking at the hem of her pale green blouse. “Spira Bank, thirty-eighth floor.”

“The spiral glass building? Next to the Citadel?” 

“Yeah.” She doesn’t say more than that, and really… she doesn’t need to. 

“Sorry.” 

“Me too.” 

He deserves getting slapped. 

Still, there’s an uneasy sort of truce between the two, something of unspoken words and shared anguish that neither can really forget. She lost something to death, while Gladio…. Gladio lost something to life. They can't be normal, would never be normal, but they try.

It isn’t as easy as some would think, trying to be normal in a world that is losing its light. He spends most of his time with Prompto and Ignis, trying to figure out something that can help Noctis. At first, Gladio hates it—an exercise in futility. But it just takes time and patience, of which he has almost none, to get some good news from their digging in the ashes of Niflheim. 

When Prompto shows them the files he had found in the remains of an MT garrison, Gladio watches as Ignis smiles. It’s soft and sad like a fading sunset until it  _ isn’t _ , and Gladio realizes only then that there’s a chance that he’ll never be free from the vice around his neck, but he has to try. Gladio knows who he is, who he will always be, but Ignis is different. Ignis smiles like the sun is born anew, waiting for the one person that consumes his every waking thought and every dream to return to him. 

Gladio doesn’t have hope. Not anymore. 

Ignis sleeps that night in the same tent as Gladio and Prompto, as they have for the last month since setting off for this round of searching for answers to unanswerable questions, but it’s the first time that Ignis doesn’t quietly cry himself to sleep.

He meets up with Linnie after that mission to Gralea, and she doesn’t look quite worried, but there’s something in her eyes that makes Gladio feel a warmth in his chest. He knows that look is for him, that she’s trying her best and so is he. That’s all they really can do—try their best.

He finds out a little after the third year without Noctis about what happened to the Spira Bank building. He tells Linnie, but from the way she stares out at the market, running her finger around the rim of her coffee cup, she probably already knows.

“I guess we're not as different as you thought, huh?”

Gladio wants to tell her that there’s a chance that he had died in the chaos that was Insomnia falling, that he hadn’t left her by choice, but the building stands like a beacon of glass and metal, perfect and hauntingly empty, its occupants having run long before tragedy consumed the city.

“Is it bad that I wish he was dead? That I knew for sure?” she says, and Gladio understands. He really does. 

She tells him that sometimes, sometimes not knowing is worse than knowing. It eats at your insides, keeps that faint hope alive. She looks up at him then and asks, “If Ignis wanted you, would you leave me?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“If he’s alive… if I saw him walk through that market… I would leave you.”

Those words are more comforting than they should be. Gladio kisses her that night, enjoying the feeling of being alive when he knows part of him has died. 

Sania Yeager is the first person to break the puzzle on their problem with the multiplying daemons. It isn’t fast right now, but Gladio knows basic math and the rule of exponents—once you start, it won’t stop. The death of a daemon meant the release of more spores, which meant more daemons, which meant more deaths caused by daemons, and so on does the circle repeat itself.

Daemons, daemons, daemons. 

It’s lose-lose. Protect yourself from daemons, make more daemons. Don't protect yourself from daemons, make more daemons.

But it’s actually Cindy who come up with the plan, figures out just what to do. The lights from the city are hot, blinding, and painful to the daemons— but they did not kill. And, once the night was gone, the daemons would melt right back into the ground where they stood, only to return when dusk fell again. They’ve been using the lights to guard the city, but what they should have been doing was the exact opposite.

Lights. A prison of lights, a cage in the darkness. It’s perfect, and when Prompto scoops Cindy up and kisses her right on the mouth as she laughs, the fact that she kisses back makes it even more perfect.

It takes a lot of trips into the city, a lot of light bulbs and gas, but they can corral the daemons into small places until Ravus—until Ravus can heal them.

That’s the second most shocking thing to fight against the daemons. Lady Lunafreya may be dead, but her blood lives on in her brother. He isn’t as kind as she was, isn’t as a talented, but he does the best with what he can. He tries, and for that Gladio’s thankful, even if he is a snarky asshole every step of the way. 

Gladio doesn't blame him for that. It's an unfair fate they were all handed, his sister more than most. Gladio got to know him when they went after Ignis back in Gralea, and he's been nursing a debt to the man ever since. 

He gets to pay it back when a stray MT bullet neatly slices through Ravus's shoulder plate, and it's Gladio who tourniquets the wound and presses his hand against the bleeding hole. He carries Ravus out, even though Ravus is telling him to put him down and let him go back. He needs to heal the fucking MT, the ones that all look like Prompto under their masks, but Gladio knows what a suicide mission looks like. He put himself on enough of them just after Noctis.... after Ignis... after everything had gone so absolutely wrong.

He knows when to pull Ravus back from the edge of the abyss, even if he can barely hold himself from going over the other side.

Ravus doesn't thank him, and Gladio doesn't say you're welcome. It's better that way because they're both broken in a way that can't be fixed by words and it's foolish to even try. That doesn't mean Ravus says nothing—no, Ravus says a lot of things. Some of it's good, some of it's trash, but mostly it's about things Gladio already understands. 

"Sometimes, Amicitia... Sometimes the Gods speak in truth coated in lies." 

Gladio says nothing for a moment, before, "Like they did with your sister?"

"Yes... Like they did with my beloved Luna. Don't allow the guilt and anger to consume you, Amicitia. I assure you that there is no healing a broken soul." 

"Then how do you live with it?" 

Ravus looks at him with haunted eyes, eyes that have seen things that Gladio has both seen and hasn’t. Not yet. Maybe, maybe not ever.  "If you find the answer, let me know."

Gladio doesn't ever find the answer, no matter how hard he looks for it. He wishes there was something— anything— tangible that will tell him what he needs to know, but it's a fool’s errand and Gladio knows better.

Ten years pass. Gladio wonders whether or not the sky will ever turn back into the beautiful fire he loved so much, the one he had watched over that fateful summer. It takes time not to see Ignis's face in his dreams, to see how beautiful he is when the sun cups his cheek in the early morning light. 

It takes time, but it does happen. 

Gladio, Prompto, and Ignis watch the sun's last dusk, and Gladio can feel it in his bones. They've worked so hard to give them more time, to give Noctis the time he needs to become the King he was born to be.

That is the night, the first night of darkness, and Gladio feels it deep within, calling him. He knows what this is, what this feeling is. 

Not what—no. _Who_.   

He's spent the years thinking of what to do if things are wrong, if Noctis comes back and there is something different, if it's no longer the Noctis he carried on his back as a child. What is he supposed to do if that Noctis is gone? What if the Gods are right? What if Ignis is wrong, because Ignis follows his heart and Gladio knows where the heart leads?  

He's always known where the heart leads.

Ravus is right, though—truth coated in lies, because Noctis looks as regal as his father did the day they left Insomnia. He looks as though he was born to lead, born to be a king. He looks every bit the part that Gladio had always wished to deny him.

Ignis is right, and that doesn't make Gladio angry—no. There's enough anger inside of him, enough loathing and hatred for himself, that what he feels is almost a relief. 

It’s fear curling deep inside of him, and Gladio can't hold it inside. He's spent so long fearing Noctis that having him in front of him... it's almost more than he can bear. 

He hides it. He does it so perfectly that it was as if the fear has never existed, as if Gladio always believed in Noctis. But he cracks, because of course he does. He’s a broken husk of metal, one that can defend no king. 

He cries that night in Hammerhead, because he knows that if Ignis hadn't stopped him, if Ignis hadn't fought tooth and nail, Gladio knows that he would have let Noctis go off to his death without a moment of pause.

"What kind of man am I? What kind of Shield am I?" Gladio asks, pressing his palms to his forehead. His fingers tremble and he wishes then for something calming, something soothing, to hold him when no one else can. 

"You're a Shield who did his best. Gladio, don't beat yourself up about this."

Gladio wishes it was possible to believe what Noctis says, but Gladio remembers every moment with a bitter sort of clarity, and he knows he can't lie anymore. He just.... he doesn't have it in him. 

"Do you remember when I left?" Gladio asks, and Noctis gives a small nod as he moves on the couch. Ignis and Prompto are with Takka and Cindy, and it's the first time Gladio's had a moment of silence with Noctis since he woke up from the Crystal. "Do you remember, uh.... before you came to Lestallum? Before the plant."

"Yeah. I do."  Noctis pulls at a particularly stubborn piece of lint pressed into his jacket. “I remember you leaving. You sure were in an awful hurry.” 

Gladio expects there to be ice in his words, but when he looks up there is a faint smile at the corners of Noctis’s mouth.  

“You guys went to…. Steycliff Grove. Right?” 

“Yeah, met Aranea there. She helped. How’s she been?”

Gladio knows that Noctis isn’t doing it on purpose, and that makes it almost worse. Just a casual conversation between two men who had been born like brothers. Just two men who didn’t have the world’s weight upon their shoulders. 

“She’s doing pretty good. I think she’s over in Tenebrae, handling some of the refugees. Ravus’s going to be coming in soon. He’ll meet us at the Citadel. He has your father’s sword.”

“Still can't believe he didn’t give it to me back in Gralea… after everything we went through together.”

But Gladio understands why he didn’t. “You weren’t ready then.”

Noctis gives a rueful smile. “But I’m ready now, right?” 

He is ready. He is as ready as any of them can possibly be. 

“Noct. Just—let me say this. Please?” 

He’s never told Ignis, even after the ten years of preparing for the moment when Noctis returned. He’s not sure why he never said a word, but he hid it away, a small piece of what he knew was so important to Noctis and Ignis. It wasn’t his memory, it wasn’t his fairytale. Maybe that’s why…. or maybe it’s the pain. 

It isn’t as sharp as it once was, because time has knitted the skin back together. It’s a jagged scar, one that promises a story of pain, but it’s healed. It’s finally healed. 

“After. Maybe a day or two before we met back up in Lestallum. I finished up fighting against Gilgamesh and I came to find you. Got there right after dawn—took my chocobo and rode all night. It was back before the daemons got too out of control…” 

Gladio knows he’s rambling, stalling for time. He knows that it won't help, that the words will still come and it feels like he’s busting open the knitted skin all over again, but it’s only for a moment. It’s only a small tear.

“Prompto must’ve taken off at dawn. It was quiet… Real quiet. You know that moment before the sky is completely ready to wake up? The birds are just starting to chirp? And for a second you think maybe it’s just a dream, that everything’s fuzzy around the edges?” 

Noctis’s smile is gone, and Gladio realizes with a certain sort of clarity that his voice is shaking, but doesn’t…

“Yeah…. Gladio. Yeah, I remember that morning.”

“I was angry, Noct. I was so angry, even though I didn’t have any right to be. I’ve been thinking about that morning ever since—ever since Gralea. I just can’t get it out of my head. And I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” 

Gladio doesn’t tell him that at that moment he wished for the tent to fall down on their heads. He doesn’t tell him that part of him wanted Noctis to die, simply so he could go back to a place where Ignis smiled at him. He doesn’t tell Noctis about Gilgamesh and the promise of death, and how Gladio wanted to lead him to the end as he was always taught. He doesn’t apologize for any of that. He doesn’t even apologize for listening in to one of the most private and intimate of moments between two people.

There are so many things to apologize for, but there’s only one that he can do right now. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most. I left you. I know that it’s my duty to take care of you, to always be with you, and I let my pig-headed pride get in the way of that. I felt weak… and you didn’t need a weak Shield. I didn’t think you needed me. But I’m glad Ignis was there. He’s an amazing guy, y’know? And he loves you more than anything. It freaks me out, Noct. It downright  _ terrifies _ me. But I’m happy that he could keep you safe when I couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry I never told you about it. About me and Ignis. I knew you were under a lot of stress, that you needed time after everything with Insomnia and your dad and Ignis…” 

Gladio shakes his head. “Don’t apologize for that. I knew… I kinda always knew how he felt about you. Maybe that’s why I loved him so much.” 

They’re tied in duty, tied in promise. Noctis is the string that wraps around both their fingers. Even if Ignis is no longer there, even if that pain has scarred over, they will always share that. They will always have Noctis.

“Gladio… I need you to promise me something.” 

Gladio knows what this is, and he wants to tell Noctis to stop, that he can’t make another promise when the one he made to Ignis still burns in his heart. But Noctis is his King, his duty, his honor. And Gladio is Noctis’s Shield.

“If something goes wrong…. If something happens that shouldn’t… do what you have to do, Gladio. You do what you have to so you can keep them safe. You can keep all of them safe." He takes a breath before continuing, "You keep _him_ safe. I hate to ask this, and I know you’ve got a life and a girl– and Ignis tells me she deals with your shit when no one else ever would. But I’m asking you this, because I know you love him like I do."  

Ignis… Ignis takes… 

And Noctis gives…

“Don’t let him do anything stupid. Don’t let him fall to pieces. Remind him that what I’m doing is to give us all a chance, and if things go wrong… that I’d rather die to protect us all than live and damn it.”

It isn’t what Gladio expects, and maybe that is why he swears it. Maybe he swears it because it's Noctis, and he remembers the day Noctis was born, the day he promised to become a Shield. He remembers Noctis and his unseeing eyes. He remembers the glow of magic as he touched the squalling newborn. 

But Gladio knows, deep inside, that he promises it because he believes in Noctis. He believes in his King.

He fights the fear, he fights the pain. His skin is scarred but his heart is put back together. When the dawn rises, when Noctis takes his place on the Throne with shaking hands and the sun bleeding onto his face, Gladio understands. 

He understands that his duty is to Noctis, to every part of him. He doesn’t have to choose between Noctis the Man or Noctis the King, because they are one in the same.

It doesn’t hurt when Ignis leans forward and reverently kisses Noctis’s mouth. There’s a tug, but Gladio can only smile fondly as Prompto snaps a picture and wolf whistles. 

For a moment Gladio doesn’t know what to do until he _does_.  

He may not know all of the answers, he may not know what the future holds before them, but he knows  _ this _ . Perhaps the Age of Kings will end with Noctis, perhaps the line of Lucis will die with its Chosen King, but that day isn’t today. This is the end of one chapter, yes, but they are only half-way through the book.

This isn’t the end of Noctis’s story, and this isn’t the end of Gladio’s. There’s still so much to do, so much to see, so many new things to explore. He wants to see where tomorrow brings them, what the future has in store. Gladio’s barely begun to live, and though he has faced much already, he is ready for the next page. He is ready for a new beginning.

Gladio goes to one knee and bows before his King and a  new chapter begins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. Thank you for reading.


End file.
